Bloodshed - Origins
by Subject-Goto
Summary: The origins of the Mortal Kombat warriors, with my own twists. Setting up my future MK stories. Rated M. Violence. Language.
1. Cold Assassin

**A/N This is my own take on the characters of MK. It will not be as grounded as Legacy. Some of the origins will be extraordinarily similar to the original mythos. Others will be vastly different. This story covers each character's origins. My next story will cover the first tournament. Violence. Language. **

* * *

_Japan_

"Bi-Han!" his brother shouted, chasing after him, as their legs propelled them toward the cliff. "Do not be foolish!"

Ignoring the plea, Bi-Han leapt, his hair ruffling in the wind as he plummeted, streamlining his body for a perfect dive, and crashing into the waves. His head pounded as he swam upwards, his hands cupping and dragging water beneath him; until his head broke the surface.

Kuai Lang's worried face peered over the precipice, and his younger brother shouted, "fool! We should not be breaking curfew the day before the tournament, nevermind leaping from a damned cliff!"

"Calm yourself," Bi-Han replied, shivering from the cold currents. "I am fine, we will return before morning. I just wanted to savour this. I could die tomorrow, and sometimes my brother, I wonder . . . would you even weep?"

Kuai Lang shook his head, looking appalled. "Of course I would. Now come, let us leave."

Sighing, Bi-Han swam to the nearby beach and began his hike back up the mountain, toward the fortress of the Lin-Kuei . When the imposing structure came into view, so did his brother, and his only friend. Smoke.

No one in the Lin Kuei were supposed to be friends. Emotions compromised efficiency.

Bi-Han's ice blue eyes wandered their fellow clansman, his swirling grey hair and charcoal eyes misfitting for someone so young. "Smoke," he greeted, his tone stony.

"Bi-Han. Your brother and I have decided on a solution for getting back into the base unseen." The ninja informed him.

"And what is that?" he asked, confusion marring his brow.

The two young friends disappeared in a plume of grey, and a moment later a hand gripped his shoulder. When he'd blinked, they stood back in their quarters.

Bi-Han snarled, twisting and summoning a mace out of ice; it struck Smoke across the jaw, sending him sprawling to the cold ground. "Ask my permission next time, asshole."

The grey haired teen did not reply but simply turned into a wisp, and reappeared beside Bi-Han, striking out with an elbow. Bi-Han blocked with his forearm, parrying with a jab that rocked back the boy's head, and he kicked out, sweeping out his legs. "Do not continue this foolish attack. You will not prevail."

Smoke snarled as he stood back up, but Kuai held out his hand. "Both of you stop . . . Bi-Han, my friend was trying to help, do not assault him. Smoke, my brother will kill you, stand down now."

The three of them argued for what seemed like hours, until a ninja walked in, cutting them off. "Bi-Han. The Grandmaster would like me to inform you that you possess one hour until you are expected outside."

The three of them turned silent, the air souring as the ninja backed out. "I should prepare," Bi Han said, fighting the growing tightness in his chest. He would see his brother again. He had to.

"Of course brother." Kuai Lang did not succeed in keeping his own voice steady however, but his composure otherwise showed no weakness. No flaw. He would make a good assassin one day.

Bi-Han stepped over to his wardrobe, and pulled it open, eyes scanning his attire. His signature blue outfit, with the face mask enhanced with mechanical breathing aids, to optimise performance. When he donned this, he knew he would no longer be Bi-Han, brother. He would be Sub-Zero, he would be an assassin. The assassin sent to kill Shang Tsung. The most famous of the Lin Kuei assassins.

The one who slaughtered the Shirai Ryu.

Once his outfit was on he led his brother - codenamed Tundra - and Smoke out into the courtyard. The Grandmaster - as well as Cyrax and Sektor, his loyal attack dogs - was already there, his robe still in the breeze that drifted across the stone walls.

Sub-Zero crossed to the centre of the courtyard and stood completely still, as the people around him chanted. He felt an annoying buzzing ripple across his skin, before he was suddenly standing on the shore of a dark island. Sharp mountains raking the sky, and treachorous cliffs dropping into the hazardous waves. A flag fluttered in front of him. It bore a black dragon, on a red background. The tournament had begun.


	2. Master Swordsman

**A/N I'm placing Kenshi into the original tournament, as I think he'd be a great fit. Raiden collects all the best fighters, but doesn't recruit the best swordsman on the planet, and a telekinetic? Pssh, yeah right. Violence. **

* * *

_Japan. 1999._

Kenshi charged forward, unsheathing his blade in a swift motion, and tearing the man in half. Another approached from behind, and he spun, raising his sword in an arc and taking the mercenary's arm, a spurt of blood coating his outfit red. The man collapsed with a gut-wrenching cry.

He looked at the men, or what remained of them. Their body parts were scattered throughout the dojo, and he sighed. Another waste of his time. Still no one had managed to oppose him.

His hand rubbed his stubble as he exited the dojo, his patience wearing thin. He'd traveled to Japan from Europe, expecting a challenge, someone worthy of his immense skills, yet no one even remotely sated his appetite for violence.

He entered a nearby marketplace, ignoring the shocked stares from civilians and merchants alike. But despite the shock, an old voice still managed to call his name.

"Kenshi-san! Kenshi-san!" An old man called his trailing beard muffling his call.

The swordsman turned and crossed to the man, who was stood behind a stall hanging with antique weapons and swords. Kenshi frowned. "What do you want, old man?"

"I have heard of your skills, and am in need of someone to collect a unique weapon for me. A devastating sword. A legendary sword. I can pay well."

"If this sword is so legendary, why has it not been collected yet?" Kenshi inquired, a sceptical eyebrow raised above brilliant green eyes.

"Many have tried. Many have failed. It is called, the Sword of Sento. It is found deep within the Himalayas, and is rumoured to be guarded, by a demon."

Kenshi couldn't help himself. He laughed. "Are you crazy, old man? There is no such thing as demons. This sword is probably gathering dust on top of some old cook's wardrobe."

"Then if I pay you in advance, it would not hurt to look, no? It is said to be the most powerful sword of all time, you know."

Kenshi couldn't help himself, he was going to get money from this fool, and if the sword did exist, he'd be able to keep it for himself. "Where do I go?"

* * *

Kenshi strode into the cave, his brashness overriding any caution. Any fear. He pushed his way past cobwebs, and rotting skeletons, his eyes scanning for the sword. And much to his surprise, there it was.

Stabbed through a boulder, in the deepest crevice of the cave, remained a sword. Ancient and dark, it looked like it would break on contact. He paced up, and placed a palm on it's grip, before pulling on it with all his might. After a few seconds, a low rumbling echoed through the dark cavern and the sword began to slide out of the boulder.

The moment it broke free, a blinding light surrounded Kenshi, as he was swarmed by the souls of the damned and tumbled to the ground. They swirled and congregated before being unnaturally pulled to a centre point.

The old merchant.

He smiled an evil, crooked smile, that Kenshi could not see. For Kenshi was distracted; his hands clawing at his face as he screamed. He'd been overcome by a paralysing pain, and now he couldn't see. He was blind.

He wept as footsteps approached. This he did hear, and he bristled, one hand gripping the Sword of Sento and he snarled. "Demon?" he asked, his voice brittle but angry, as he raised into a crouching position.

The merchant laughed. "No. Just an old man going about his trade. I knew the consequence of taking the sword, but I also knew what it unleashed, the hundreds of souls the sword has claimed in the past. Thank you for giving them to me, for there is no better sustenance for a sorcerer than a few souls now and then." He laughed again. "If, by some miracle, you make it out of this mountain range alive, be sure to challenge me. If you dare. My name, is Shang Tsung. I have a tournament I shall be hosting, in fourteen years time. If you are as good as you claim, we will meet again."

Kenshi leapt forward; the sword lovingly light and balanced as it swerved through the air, but it found nothing but that. Shang Tsung was gone.

Voices started to resonate in his mind, and he continued to weep, fearing that he was beginning to lose his mind from his injuries. But the voices separated themselves, organised themselves, revealed themselves. They were his ancestors.

Accessing this demonic sword had triggered his sixth sense, and he could communicate with his ancestors, feel his heightened senses expand even further and when he focused on his touch, snapping out his palm . . . the wall of the cavern cracked.

He'd became a wielder of telekinesis. He would claim his revenge, and he would claim Shang Tsung's head, whether he had to die in the process.

* * *

_Britain. 2013._

Kenshi stood in a small rented apartment, meditating on the floor, eyes screwed shut, as in his mind, his ancestors chanted. He felt the pull toward another location, another realm and grimaced as a buzzing spread across his skin. When he opened his eyes, he was sat on the beach of a grim island. Not that he could see it, but he could sense it. He could feel the Outworld and Netherrealm energies that tainted the place. He could practically smell the traitor. He could practically smell Shang Tsung.

The tournament had begun.


	3. Father and Husband

**A/N So here's the 2nd of the 'big two'. Although he isn't my fave character, this is an awesome backstory I wanted to explore, so please enjoy. Review if you've got any feedback. Violence.**

_Italic is thought._

* * *

**Japan.**

Hanzo Hasashi lifted his son into the air, marvelling at what his wife had just gave birth to. He brought the child close, cradling him against his chest, laughing. "He's so small! Is this natural? How is he supposed to be a warrior at this size?"

_My son? He is . . . my son._

His wife rolled her eyes, as their clan's equivalent of a nursing staff backed off, giving them space as a family. She spoke softly, her voice soothing, "Hanzo, he is a newborn. Give him a few years before you begin to train."

"I was joking my love," the man said, his eyes filled with tears while none of his fellow warriors were there to see it. When he addressed them later he would have to be calm, collected. Their leader. But for now, he would be a father and husband. "What should we call him?"

"Hmmm. How about . . . Jubei?" her voice rose slightly at the end, as she fought to stay awake.

_Perfect._

"I like that. Jubei. My warrior," Hanzo agreed, smiling, before he passed the child to a nurse. He held his wife's hand as she drifted to sleep, and he left to address his men. The Shirai Ryu.

* * *

**Ten years later.**

Hanzo's footsteps crunched on the icy gravel and snow, as he carried food for his family, back towards their clan's town. The trees on either side of him grew tall, and thick, obscuring his view, limiting his awareness. Not that that had bothered him until tonight.

_I wonder what Jubei will learn next, he is progressing amazingly. Few are able to do what he can at his age, and he is more helpful than some members of the clan put together. May as well start paying my little man._

He laughed lightly to himself as he passed into a denser area of the forest, his breath visible in a cold mist from his mouth. The mist merely reminded him of their rival clan the Lin Kuei and he frowned.

_It hasn't been this cold in a century._

Shrugging the foolish thoughts from his head, he continued making his way toward his clan; when he heard a scream pierce the peace.

_What the hell was that?! Not my people, not . . .._

He sprinted forward the food dropping uselessly behind him as he propelled himself toward his clan, his boots smashing the twigs and undergrowth. When he came level with a slight clearing, he swore, unsheathing his signature weapon, the kunai. A body lay in the clearing, left as a warning.

He warily approached, the red that seeped from the woman staining the snow crimson. He turned her over and gasped. It was one of the nurses who had helped deliver Jubei.

_They have decimated, they have tarnished my greatest memory. They will pay._

He froze as a faint snap could be heard from behind. His mouth, hidden behind his feared yellow mask, curled into a snarl. He turned, to see a man he vaguely recognised before him.

"Bi-Han?" he asked, fear tarring his voice.

_No. Do not be scared. Kayla needs you. Jubei needs you. _

"Hanzo, still carrying around that rusty old spear I see," the cryomancer greeted, his taunt meaningless. This rusty old spear would do things to him he would never forget.

"You?! You have . . . done this to her?!" he roared, his muscles straining in rage.

The cheeks above the blue mask twitched in a smile. "Maybe. Although, I'd worry less about her and more about . . . Jubei, is it?"

_No. No, he can't have._

"I-I cannot believe this treachery, we had a truce!"

"Please! Your clan has always been inferior, we just needed the timing to prove it." Sub-Zero rolled his neck, blue eyes glinting dangerously. "Do you really think your kunai can take my ice?"

"Only one way to find out," Hanzo growled, as he settled into his fighting stance. Bi-Han did the same; not a single bird's song interrupting the tension mounting between them.

Sub-Zero froze the path in front of him, sliding towards Hanzo, who rolled to the side; bringing up the kunai in an arc. The Lin Kuei assassin twisted avoiding the weapon and forming a ball of ice as he did so, and flinging it toward the Shirai Ryu warrior.

He ducked, slamming a leg out and towards Sub-Zero's legs, but the assassin jumped and kicked Hanzo in the face, knocking him back; before following it up with a barrage of elbows and knees. Hanzo was flung to the ground, and curled in protectively against the attack, before seeing a slight respite, and jamming the kunai into Bi-Han's foot.

The blue mask almost jolted off his face as he screamed, and Hanzo turned, recognising when he was outmatched; sprinting toward his family.

* * *

When he arrived at their small village; he almost choked. Smoke bellowed out of multiple buildings and the entire place was a smoldering wreck. H eventually stumbled to his house and began rifling through the rubble, as tears streamed down his cheeks. "Kayla! Jubei?!" he screamed, his entire body protesting, wanting to collapse. Wanting to give up. But he would not abandon his family.

The next piece of rubble he turned over caused his heart to take pause. A slender hand poked out, frozen and cracked, bearing a small wedding band. Identical to the one of his own. Sobbing and begging for it not to be true he lifted the rubble away, and stared at his wife's corpse.

Rage bellowed within him, settling within the cores of his soul, clawing for revenge. Another scream nearby, but this one, was that of a child.

He pushed his way through the thick grey haze, barging out next to his village's small blacksmith's. In the distance he saw his son sprinting.

"JUBEI!" He pleaded, his voice carrying far.

The child turned and his wet face erupted into a smile. He began running back towards his father, but as he ran, a shard of blue shot out the corner of Hanzo's vision.

He looked away, screaming again, as the shard pierced his son. He fell to his knees, not able to bring his dark eyes to the small body that fell in his peripheral vision, completely still. Despite the infinite rage that now fuelled his veins, that now boiled his blood and burned his insides, he could not move. His body had become numb. It took him a few moments to realise it was because he was shrouded in a layer of ice. Bi-Han had found them.

As his life ebbed away, his entire mind focused on one thing.

Vengeance.

* * *

**Two Hours Later**

A man wandered through the village. He was wearing black robes, embroidered with golden dragons and red flames. He was old, his grey beard falling down to his chest, and the thin layer of hair that still remain atop his head was slicked back. His predatory eyes scanned the area, before landing on the frozen form of Hanzo Hasashi.

The old man suddenly appeared next to the body, and crouched beside it, eyes narrowed. He raised his hand and it began to glow green. "Hanzo?" he asked, his sorcery tethering the corpse's souls to this realm allowing them to communicate.

"Who . . . are . . . you?" the voice replied weakly, though the body remained frozen.

"Shang Tsung. You have no doubt heard of me, and I wish to offer you a place, fighting for Outworld in the Mortal Kombat tournament."

"And, why . . . would I . . . do that?" Hanzo's soul growled, ferocious.

"Because, Sub-Zero is attending the tournament, on behalf of Earthrealm . . .."

For the first time in two hours, Hanzo Hasashi's soul was superfluous with joy. It cackled madly, revelling in it's chance at revenge, of attaining justice. "When do we begin?"


	4. Betrayed by a Dragon

**A/N This is a triple origin, because it'd be pointless having these three separate from each other. Note that Jax will not be in the first tournament, but will appear (if I decide to write it) the second tournament. Violence.**

* * *

**Deacon City. 2013.**

Sonya Blade's blonde hair was hung loose over one shoulder, curled and conditioned. A weakness, she thought, as people could grab it in a fight. She much preferred it in a ponytail.

She entered the shoddy nightclub. The lieutenant always hated working undercover, it required patience, and she didn't see the point of it. Why wait around doing nothing, when you could just launch a full force attack?

The flimsy red dress and high heels screamed nothing but slut, as she crossed the dancefloor towards the VIP section, to meet with the Black Dragon's top-people, including a mole they had within the organisation. His name was Kano. She'd met him repeatedly back at HQ, and at arranged meeting spots throughout Deacon City, as well as a few . . . other times. Although gruff, he seemed like a decent guy. Or as decent as an ex mercenary and weapons smuggler could get. A year was a long time for your opinion to change on someone.

Her partner walked by her side, Jackson Briggs. He was her alter ego's 'other half', and they'd done a good job of it so far. If this meeting went well, the two of them could join the Black Dragon and the three of them (Kano included) could destroy them from within. Whereas she was tall, hitting 6"1 with a lean frame; he was rather small, hitting 5"10, but was built like a brickhouse, his dark skin housing powerful, bulging muscles.

They told the guard outside the VIP section a password, and he bid them enter into a room that was the complete opposite of the rest of the club: a lush cream carpet lay down before them, and a tan corner sofa sat to one side, on which sat Kano, who winked at her and two other men. The two heads of the organisation no doubt.

Jax led her forward to a smaller sofa, lightly coloured and opposite the other, a glass coffee table between them. They had barely sat down, when the man in the middle began to speak, his yellowed teeth not helping his already over-beaten features. "Mr and Mrs Gunn. Bout time you got here, the men were gettin' itchy."

Jax shrugged. "Sorry 'bout that, sir. Traffic, you know how it is," his lie rolled off his tongue with ease. He was good at this.

"You're more than right, we do know how it is . . . Major Briggs."

Sonya's heart stopped a moment, her mouth dry, as time slowed. How had they known? Her question was answered almost immediately. Kano darted forward, a vicious grin on his face, as he flicked out a butterfly knife, and stabbed it into her partner's hand; before he raked it upwards mauling Jax's entire arm, where it got stuck in the shoulder joint.

Sonya snapped her toned leg upwards, her shin hitting the double-agent's throat and robbed him of his breath. He stumbled back from the screaming Jax, and she rolled to the side as the other two criminals leapt at her. She cracked an elbow against the nose of the first, to the satisfying sound of it breaking. The second threw a haymaker at her, which she easily ducked under, stabbing into his leg with her heel. The blonde brought her other leg up, over his shoulder, and she straddled him as he yelled out; raining brutal punches into his face.

The two of them tumbled to the ground, fury funneling through her assault. Two strong, rough hands gripped her shoulders and hauled her back, these hands were familiar. Kano's. She yelled in anger, biting his hand and tearing off a finger with her teeth. He swore in his thick Australian accent as he backed off; raising his fists into a boxer's stance, and growling.

"Come on! I know all your moves, baby. Bring. It. On!" he roared, spittle flying out in front of him. She rolled forward, kicking his leg while crouched, and he bent forward. She brought up her other leg aiming for his face, and her high heel pierced his eye in a spurt of crimson, before ripping it upwards, aiming to kill him; but he leant back, and it merely tore the left side of his forehead apart.

He fell back screaming as she ran past him, grabbing Jax's one good arm and leading him out of the dismal clubbing hotspot.

* * *

**Three Weeks Later**

Sonya paced down the street, eager to hear how Jax's operation had went. The hospital loomed ahead, as the skies darkened, and a ferocious lightning storm bore down on the city. She began to sprint, when a bolt of lightning hit the ground in front of her, and she was sent flying backwards.

She leant up, her head throbbing and stopped just short of her face hitting a piece of rubble . . .

That floated in midair.

Now that she observed the area, she realised that the entire street had frozen, shock marring the faces of those nearby, and a taxi that sped past her had sent up a spray of water from a puddle, that hung in the air, neither liquid nor solid.

She frowned, slowly raising to her feet, when she realised that where the lightning had hit, there now stood a man. He looked to be of mixed Japanese and American descent, but when he spoke, it was a neutral voice, that had no origin. "Sonya Blade. I am sorry that I have startled you. Are you hurt from your fall?"

She merely stared at the stranger, dumbfounded at the oddity of his appearance. He wore white and blue robes, and strapped boots, the kind that you would see in those shaolin monk martial arts movies. She hated those movies. A Chinese straw hat remain perched on his head, the eyes beneath the rim glowing blue; but it was as if beneath the surface there was a whole other lightning storm, electricity glowing and cackling within the abyss. She couldn't tear her gaze away.

"I'm fine. What the hell's going on here?" she finally managed to demand.

"Be calm. My name is Raiden, and I am here to offer you a unique, yet dangerous opportunity. If you accept, there will be no turning back." His voice was serenely calm, yet it was tainted with regal authority, with power, with dominance.

"What opportunity?"

"To take part in a tournament. I want you to attend the Mortal Kombat tournament, to fight for Earthrealm, for our realm. For I am the god of thunder, and I am asking for your assistance. Especially considering your chance for vengeance . . . Kano will be attending the tournament." His eyes flashed even brighter for a split-second.

Sonya's gut instinct told her to hospitalize this man for mental illness, to help him get serious help, but how would she explain how everything had frozen? How could she explain how he had appeared in a bolt of lightning? How could he know about Kano? Her mind could not come to the conclusion, nor could her gut, but her heart did. He was telling the truth.

"Alright Raiden, you best start from the top."


	5. Descendant of the Great Kung Lao

**A/N Now we've got the kung-fu twins. I'm not going to go into EVERY character's background before the tournament, so I'll probably do two more of these, one for K/M and one for Mr. Cage, then I'll be writing the actual tournament. Violence. Language. Enjoy and review if you have the time!**

* * *

_China. 2013._

Kung Lao's blade-brimmed hat sheened in the noon sun. The sand brushed up underfoot as the two rivals circled, baiting the other. A circle had been drawn in the sand, and the elders of the White Lotus sat outside the circle, their monk's robes rippling in the wind.

Liu Kang was his opponent, the younger man's long hair tied back, to make sure his view was not obscured. Like that would stop his defeat. Liu opened the same predictable way he always did; his flying dragon kick. Kung teleported in response, coming up behind Liu as he came to a stop, and the older man swiped downwards with his hat, causing Liu to twist around it and aim a chop at his throat.

He parried it to the side, replying with a swift kick towards his opponent's knee. It connected and Liu was put of balance, so Kung merely followed up with a palm shot to the face, and the younger man was sent flying to the ground.

"Point one out of three to Kung Lao!" an Elder announced, his tone completely unbiased. The elders considered the two to be of equal strength but knew only one could attend the Mortal Kombat tournament. So they'd organised this small match as the decider.

Like they almost thought a regular Shaolin could defeat a descendant of the Great Kung Lao.

He teleported again appearing behind Liu, who spun, but the moment he rose from the ground he sunk back in, appearing by the side of the other Shaolin. He brought both his hands down, intertwined with each other, and they cracked into the back of Liu's head, sending him back to the ground.

"Point two!" the Elder yelled, as more of the younger shaolins appeared over the dunes, descending to watch the fight. Meditation must have ended.

Liu's face was contorted with rage as he slowly rose to his feet. Kung wasted no time, rolling forward and slamming a foot into his stomach; before wrapping his legs round his throat and flipping him overhead. But Liu landed on his feet, summoned a flame in his hand, and sent it flying at the upside down martial artist.

Kung sunk into the ground, teleporting a long twenty metres behind Liu, and summoned a gust of wind; it sent him flying forward, crashing into his rival. They crashed to the ground, sending sand flying up and Kung whipped off his hat placing it at Kang's throat.

"We have our warrior," the Elder announced, to an eruption of applause from the younger monks, who stifled their excitement at a harsh look from the older men. "Violence is not something to be celebrated, or even accepted. We merely tolerate it, to hold back the forces of Shao Kahn. Do not misunderstand this."

Lao rose to his feet, allowing an enraged Liu Kang to rise to his side. "Thank you Elder Ren. I shall begin my preparations immediately." Nodding curtly, he walked to his quarters briskly and began to meditate; focusing his mind in tune with nature would prepare him for the uphill fight to come.

* * *

_A week later._

Kung Lao sat cross legged in a myriad of candles and idols. Just outside of this ring of worship, were the entire White Lotus, who sung a low hymn, that would call to the thunder god, Raiden. Answering their prayers, the sky above the courtyard lit with thunder, great black clouds fighting for dominance above the petty mortals. With a flash of lightning, Kung Lao was gone, appearing on the black beach of Shang Tsung's island. The tournament had begun.


	6. A Star in Supernova

**After this, only one more to go before the tournament begins! Violence/Language/People getting Caged. Stryker won't be in the first tournament. I don't own anything within. (Just thought I'd point this out in this chapter, due to the references and stuff.)**

* * *

_Deacon City. 3/3/2012._

His $500 sunglasses were smashed as the bouncer hit him square in the face, and he stumbled back, swearing.

The muscled, 6"7 bald bouncer with the horrible beard spoke up again, his voice steely, "Sir, for the last time, your name is not on the list, so you are not going to enter."

"How can my name not be on the list?" Johnny raged, his head pounding and his vision went momentarily blurry.

"Because you're clearly not … Johnny Cage? He was just some bust up, poor excuse for a 'film star' from the 90's. I'm pretty sure he died a couple of years ago, so screw off man."

The man's words hit Johnny like a sledgehammer, and he froze a moment, had it really been that long since _Citizen Cage_? Really so long since he'd made _Ninja Mime, Time Smashers _and _Brokenose Mountain? _

_**Has it really been so long since my fame, that there are actually rumours I'm dead? I … I'm nothing now.**_

He sighed. "Jerry, can I call you Jerry?" He didn't wait for a response. "I am Johnny Cage, you can't fake this man. Inside, is my ex wife, I just wanna talk to her man. So let me in, right now Jerry. I aint askin' twice."

'Jerry' bristled, rolling his shoulders and cracking his knuckles. "Don't threaten me asshole. I don't care who you are, and if you really are Johnny Cage, what the fuck does it matter? You're just some outdated, forgotten action star, who used stunt doubles and shoddy camera work, to hide the fact that you couldn't fight." The man smiled, exposing a number of yellow, cracked teeth. "Fuck. Off."

He didn't need telling twice. He dropped into a split, and smacked his fist into Jerry's groin, causing him to keel over. Johnny leapt straight up, and brought his elbow down into the man's spine.

Jerry thudded to the ground and groaned in pain. Johnny turned to the crowd behind him - who were all dumbfounded, pulling out their phones to record it. Some of them even cheering him on - and flashed them a dazzling smile, despite the blood running from his nose.

He looked down at the dazed bouncer and his face turned sour. "Those were $500 sunglasses."

This garnered a laugh from the crowd, but they all shut up when security from the club charged out. He didn't waste a second before fighting them. The crowd were recording this, this was his chance to get himself back in the papers. Onto the internet. This was his chance to be recognised, to finally be a somebody again.

* * *

_Deacon City Police Department. 4/3/2012. Interrogation Room 7._

Johnny groaned as a bright light flooded the room, and he pulled up a hand to block the brightness from his eyes. He now mourned the loss of sunglasses even more.

"John Carlton, or should I call you Johnny Cage? Or Michael Grimm, the alibi you used to enter that illegal martial arts competition last year?" asked a police detective, who sat rigidly on the steel chair opposite.

"Let's just try Johnny," he replied finally bringing his hand down, as he adjusted to the new light. _**How'd he know about that tournament? Fuck. As if my record isn't bad enough already. **_"What should I call you, Mr. McClane?"

The man shook his head. "No. Although the premise of that film was loosely based off of a real operation I was involved in. You can call me Lt. Stryker."

"You don't look like Bruce Willis," Johnny grumbled, staring at the older man, whose strong jawline framed a lined face, and wavy blonde hair. "More like a crackpot."

Stryker scowled. "Mr. Cage, do you really believe I'm going to stay here and compete in a pissing match with you all day? Frankly Mr. Cage, your little stunt yesterday was disgraceful. A pathetic attempt at regaining fame, but I already saw the papers this morning; that little fight you had, is already getting called fake. Propaganda even, for your desperate attempt at being a worthwhile martial arts star. So, if you must know Mr. Cage; you failed."

"I told you to call me Johnny."

The Lieutenant sighed, and shook his head. "Just shut up Mr. Cage. If you want, I can make all this disappear, all you have to do, is agree not t-"

Stryker froze, his frustrated and worn features unmoving in the unwavering light.

"What the hell?" Johnny exclaimed, glancing round the room. "What's going on?"

When he looked head on again, stood behind Stryker, was a man in white and blue Japanese robes and wearing a straw hat. The actor hadn't even heard him enter.

"Johnny Cage," the man stated, his head tilted to the side. "My name is Raiden, and if you listen carefully, and agree to do what I ask, I will not only get you out of here; but give you a chance to regain your stardom."

Johnny didn't even hesitate, the desperate plea for fame lighting up his withered soul. "I'm listening."


	7. Beauty and the Beast

**A/N Okay, loads of characters are featured here, and ALL of them will eventually appear. Violence. Language. (This one is the one that greatly differs from the established mythos, just thought I'd warn you but I always hated how two-dimensional Fujin, Raiden and Kitana were.)**

* * *

_200 Years Ago._

Fujin groaned as he awoke, on the black beach of Shang Tsung's island. His long white ponytail hung down his back; his black and silver robes ruffling in the light wind, which intensified as he awoke. Raiden was sat nearby and looked up when he heard him stir. He looked furious.

"Fujin," he 'greeted' his voice sounded perfectly calm, but the rumbling of thunder in the distance only affirmed his obvious anger, "I cannot believe this."

"Father, please," the demi-god begged, "I can expla-"

"No. Do not try to. The 6th tournament in a row that Shang Tsung has won, and why? Because you could not bring yourself to kill Shao Kahn's own daughter!" The Thunder God no longer hid his fury, his muscles straining.

"Kitana is not his daughter! We both know what happened with Sindel and that . . . monster he has created. She is her mother's daughter, she has good in her heart, would it kill you to see that?!" Fujin could feel anger rise in his heart. How dare he doubt her.

"No! It would kill me to be foolish enough to hesitate in a tournament that was going to decide on the fate of an entire realm!"

"There are four more tournaments, we can win one of them!"

"But Kitana will still be there! How can we win if you refuse to do what is expected of you?!" Raiden crackled with electricity as he approached Fujin. "You are a failure my son. You are unreliable and act off of instinct instead of judgement. When those innocents died in Britain . . . I should have seen this coming."

"Please, that was an accident! The reason I am able to survive the tournament is because of those instincts!"

"Correct. Those instincts should serve you well when you arrive in Outworld." Fujin could hear the thunder fade slightly, as his father's face turned sorrowful for a single moment.

"What?" he asked, his voice strained. "What do you mean?"

"I am sorry my son. Please remember that." Raiden walked to the fire they had started the night before, and started placing symbols around it in the sand. "You defied the orders I set in place to protect this realm. You forfeited a match, purposefully betraying your own realm, due to something as trivial as love. You endangered humanity for your own needs."

"What are you doing?" Fujin cautiously stood, watching his father carefully.

"From this moment, you are banished from Earthrealm, to the wilds of Outworld for the next 200 years. This is your punishment." Raiden stepped away from the finished symbols, and the fire churned, carrying into the air and swirling into a ball of flame that slowly spread out; forming a portal.

"No . . .." Fujin paled as he backed away from his father, and the winds picked up into a full on hurricane. "I will go nowhere!"

"You can be with Kitana, my son!"

"We both know I'd be killed on sight! That is not why you do this, you do it to make me suffer!" His voice morphed into a rage infused scream and he flew at Raiden, his hands gripping the God's throat.

They tumbled to the ground as thunder and lightning erupted across the valley, accompanying the full on hurricane, that ripped the dead trees just off the shore from their roots. Raiden's fist slammed upwards, catching his son under the jaw; causing him to tumble backwards.

Fujin scrambled to his feet, growling like an animal, his teeth clenched and fists raised. The anger inside him enveloped him like it always had. Raiden slowly stood, shaking his head.

"Son, you could have been so much more."

"I could have been like you, heartless and a slave to the Elder Gods. I pass." He scowled as his father disappeared in a flash of lightning. "Coward!"

He sighed as he watched the water recede, panning back hundreds of metres.

_He wouldn't go that far to scare me, to force me into Outworld. He wouldn't risk killing his own son._

He soon discovered how wrong he was, watching the tsunami approach the coast at a lightning fast pace.

_Asshole. He stil hasn't taught me how he does that, despite controlling thunder . . . Creates a storm in the sea?_

Fujin, recognising how helpless his situation was, approached the portal begrudgingly, to begin his isolation. "I know you can hear me Raiden! So make no mistake, in 200 years, I will return! I will have your head!" He almost broke down out of fear and sorrow, as he stepped through the flames.

* * *

_Modern Day. Outworld. Shao Kahn's Fortress._

Kitana's luscious brown hair was held back by her silver headdress, from which flowed a light blue veil that covered her entire face. She wore her usual outfit, as she descended the steps silently.

She entered the dungeon, biting her lip as she searched for him and almost screamed as she spotted Baraka; the spikes in his head and arms lit up disgustingly in the flickering candlelight, and the blades in his arms protruded, ripping through his sickly and scarred flesh.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, her tone royal and cold. Exactly what could be expected of the 'daughter' of Shao Kahn.

"Watching over the prisoner," he replied, his voice gravelly and sounded like it tore his throat apart with every syllable. She hated the way his s' drew out like a hiss.

"I am taking over. Leave, now." She curled a fist to impose her order.

He obeyed without question, leaving without a word, but she was sure she heard a slight growl as he passed, like he . . ..

_No. He'll think I'm just guarding the prison, there's no way he suspects that we . . . that I . . .._

A familiar and soft voice echoed out to her, and it shielded her from the cold, warming her mind and causing her heart to flutter, "Kitana?"

"Fujin?" she asked, gently walking into the darkness and sitting before him. In this low light she could barely make out the white strands of his dirty, matted hair. She didn't care about the bruises or the blood. She didn't care about the dirt or grime. What mattered was that he was here, that he was alive and that he had been the one that told her the truth about her 'father' and 'sister'. As well as the truth behind her mother's death.

"Who else would be here?" he joked, a short, brittle laugh that was cut off by the wound along his throat. In the century since his capture, they had tried many methods of torture and murder to snuff out his life, but being a demi-god, it never worked.

"Hmm. Bo Rai Cho?" she challenged, thinking on the Outworld traitor who resided in the wilds, the human sympathiser. He was a good man.

They continued to talk for hours, content for the company of the only other person in the fortress that was remotely sane, that was remotely likeable.

* * *

_Shao Kahn's Throne Room_

Mileena's breaths were, as always, ragged as she entered the throne room, her boots taping off the marble floor. She approached the muscled form of her father, as he was addressed by the head of the Tarkatan army: Baraka.

She smiled her fangs at him as she approached, remembering the night they'd spent during the last Mortal Kombat tournament, drenched in the blood and gore of many shaolin monks, warriors and ninjas. They'd barely seen each other since, as he was used more as a guard dog for the prisoner than a general whereas she was royalty.

_It's a shame really, he may be as intelligent as an animal, but at least he can fight and fuck._

She bowed to her father and rose with her smile gone. No one smiled at Shao Kahn, not even the daughter that loved him.

"Mileena, good. We were just discussing your sister. The prisoner is to be executed in front of the entire attendance of the next tournament, you understand this?"

"Of course Emperor. It is to lower the Earthrealmer's moral, and to force my sister to expose herself," she growled, her voice animalistic and brutal, but also happy. She couldn't wait to watch the demi-god and her sister bleed.

"Yes. Shang Tsung however, has disappointed me. He has requested your presence at the island early, to help prepare, which means you will be in the sorcerer's presence for longer than originally required, as well as that of Kitana and Fujin. She will likely attempt to free him, so I'm changing your assignment."

"To?"

"Forget the Earthrealmers unless necessary, Baraka and the other competitors can handle them. You are to keep a close eye on your sister, at the sight of her slightest attempt at dissention . . . finish her."

"With pleasure."


End file.
